Just then I pulled out of her, for I wanted her to finish me off with her riding me, something she did more deftly than any woman I had ever lain with. She gasped as she tried catching her breath. Sweat beaded on her rising and falling chest and I could still see the inner muscles of her thighs trembling from aftershocks of her cumming. “Gods, Rothan… is it fair that a concubine should enjoy her work so much?”
I laughed out loud. “It’s more than fair. But I should hope it’s not really work anymore.” I grinned at watching her run her toes along her shiny legs, a wide smile on her face. I leaned back into bed, and let my legs spread so that she could ride me with those hips she knew how to use like an artist.
She sat up in bed, her tousled hair covering one eye. Something about her rising from the bed where the candle had fallen and left scorch marks, made a strange humor fall over me. For a moment—as if a passing vision—I saw her glowing as if flames consumed her, a visage of a skull upon her face, a skull that grew and grew until it consumed me in an endless darkness. Then in an instant it was gone, and I was in my chamber once more. I was unnerved. Bellabel was still in the rush of delight, face flushed, and wanting more still. “I want to pleasure you now. Pleasure you for hours.” She stalked toward me like a panther. I took a breath to try to recompose myself. I was no superstitious fool. I paid the gods their due. A token prayer now and then tossed at them like a coin into a fountain. Attending the rites of my people growing up. I would never have let fear of the gods come between me and a woman as exquisite as Bellabel. Yet somehow, I did. My eyes roamed to hers, then I lifted her chin up with one finger
“You have pleased me. It has pleased me to see you enjoy yourself. That is all I need this night.” I ignored the confusion in her eyes. Rolled over and slipped my under garment on, still blinking hard from the vision, but not letting her see it.
“But Rothan, I left you… unfinished.”
“It is no loss—you have left me more than finished many a time. I should get some sleep and save my strength for tomorrow. Come, enjoy the last moments of the night.” Motioning to her, I brought her close until she was laying against me.
“You never thought of the fights the night before,” she whispered, “until now.”
“Perhaps it is because it is my last, and my freedom is at stake.” In truth my freedom had been at stake every battle and every coliseum combat, because my life was. On fields I had stood before armies, fought in forests, in castles, in ditches, at sea. In the arena I had faced warriors from every corner of the earth, and creatures that devoured men like cats devour rats. No, it was not my freedom and my life being at stake that made my mind heavy. The only difference in tomorrow’s combat, was that Bellabel’s freedom depended on the outcome.
“You’re right,” my Sarathean concubine said, her voice sounding brighter. “You should be as rested as you can. We’ll have many nights together to try many kinds of pleasure, there in that cold land of yours. I have not even danced for you yet.”
“Of course you have.”
“No.” She smiled lustily. “I mean another kind of dancing.”
“Well then, I was unsure if I would be triumphant, but now I know I will surely slay the Orc beast tomorrow, that I might see this dancing for myself.”
“You will. Oh, you will. This is our last night here, but the first of many nights together.”
I held her for a long time, trying to picture what it would be like to bring a Sarathean concubine to Wolf Rein. I pictured the look on my father’s face. And what of Kyra? Gods only knew what she would say. I tried to picture coming home to Wolf Rein as best I could, together with Bellabel. However, I could not picture it. I could only see the candle falling to the sheats and leaving them scorched. To what destruction was I leading her? I could not shake the feeling that with this night we had said goodbye to one another.
4
A single torch burned in the concrete chamber, and the shadows of us three dozen gladiators were long and contorted. The crowd’s noise could be heard faintly through the thick walls, as the sea can be heard inside a ship.
A coliseum servant tightened the greaves around my shins, slipped my gauntlets on, fastened the armor on my shoulders. One of my arms was fully plate armored and topped with a pauldron on my shoulder. Save for a matching gauntlet, my right arm was left unarmored, as I preferred the quickness and flexibility to the protection. Furs were sewn under my shoulder armor as well as around my belt. They were cumbersome in this climate, but Pelleo insisted I had to look the part of a Northerner. As the servant in his plain tunic made sure my armor was all fastened properly, I stared into the dog helm I held in my hands. This last piece of armor, I would put on myself. All around me the other gladiators were fit with their gear as well. Above the stone ceiling of the chamber, I could hear the slowly building rumble of footsteps and numberless conversations.
Pelleo entered the chamber and spread his arms as if we were all his kin. He spoke to all of us from the other side of iron bars. “Greetings! My performers, you look splendid.” He gazed all around the room, at me, Timor, Zurkin, the Cock, and three dozen other gladiators, some of us seasoned veterans, others civilian captives who would be chucked a sword and told to fight beasts and professional warriors alike. “This is truly a unique show, and rightfully so to honor the great god Akaraxis. As some of you know, we will not be fighting amongst each other today, no, we have a common enemy, and so we fight as a team you might say. We’re fighting for the honor of my house, and of you as a troupe of performers and warriors alike. All of your opponents will be Ribedeux’s men. The crowd is already being entertained, but in moments the combats will begin. Make your ringmaster proud.”
Moments later the flag bearer entered. He wore a bright yellow tunic, a plumed helm, and carried the banner which I now recognized as the symbol of Pelleo’s house, a fish leaping over a line of coins. The flag bearer walked out along with a troupe of guards. We walked in single file to the antechamber. The crowd’s bluster grew louder and louder. Once inside the antechamber, we could see the whole inside of the coliseum through the metal bars. The crowd roared, some five thousand strong. Little flags and adornments fluttered all in the stands. On the announcing podium, Pelleo stood with the metal relic on his neck which made his voice boom all around the stadium by some kind of sorcery.
“Patrons, fellow citizens of the glorious Empire! Welcome now, the true sport of the day! The blood and skill which will honor Akaraxis and Emperor Septimus!” The crowd cheered and hollered. “Welcome Timor the Trident and Gullivar of Heston Vale.”
The two gladiators entered the vast arena, accompanied by a couple of first timers who looked scared out of their mind. They fought some halberdiers, who all seemed well trained and armed. I did not watch closely as I had my own combats to weigh on my mind.
I finished the last preparations on my armor and looked over my weapons. I had my usual choices, which sometimes switched between opponents depending on their skills as well as my mood. The new addition to my weaponry was the Sarathean spear which Zurkin had given me. I would save that for last, since I was sure Pelleo would have me put on a show and fight some other opponents before I fought the Black Orc. If Pelleo knew something, it was how to make best use of his resources.
Steel flashed and blood splattered as Timor and the rest dueled.
Timor and Gullivar returned and the steel gate was opened for them to enter our viewing chamber. Timor was limping, leaning on Gullivar and blood pouring from his ribs.
“Timor, how bad is it?” I asked.
“I’ll live,” he said, wincing.
“Get him to a healer already!” I shouted out in the room, and two servants came and carried him away.
I watched few of the combats, only heard the screams of agony and shouts of triumph come from the arena, all at times drowned out by the crowd’s drunken pleasure.
“And now,” I heard Pelleo’s voice ring out from his enchanted mechanism, “what you’ve all been wait
ing for. The Scourge from the North... the Cold Ax... the Champion of Champions… the Dog of War!” The crowd thundered and it felt as if the vast concrete structure shook. The metal gate lifted and I stepped out of the shadows, out into the bright noon day sun. My footsteps grated against the sandy ground.
As I walked toward the center of the arena, I lowered the visor of my helmet, and I became someone else.
I stood in the center of the sundrenched arena, sunlight lighting my armor and ax blade afire. I took it all in, pacing in a circle. The crowd. The shouts. The vast structure a wonder of the world.
I hoisted the ax above my head and the crowd roared as I had never heard it before. The arena had row upon row of spectators. Above us, steel beams crossed the entire structure. Suspended from these were viewing crystals, like a sailor’s spyglass but a hundred times larger, so that even spectators seated in the highest rows could look upon the carnage of the arena as if they were in the front rows. It was said Kenessos had the greatest coliseum in all the Empire, in all the world, and it had to be true.
The weight of my double headed ax in my hands was so familiar it was calming even in the storm of shouts and jeers. My eyes roamed the stadium meticulously through the eye slits of my helm. Finally, I spotted the distinct furs and long hair of my Northern comrades, One Eye and Eric among them. Then my eyes roamed to a spot I also eyed before combat. It was a spot in the seats where two rose curtains closed off several exquisite female forms. And there, viewing me through the sheer fabric, was the form of Bellabel, silently watching me, knowing tonight both our fates would be decided.
I heard the creak of metal as the opposing gate opened, and saw who they had sent to die by my hands. There were five of them. Three armed with sword and shield in the center, a spearman with shield guarding each flank. Their armor was sharp gray metal, studded, adorned with the long yellow tassels in the Western style. I stood perfectly still, a statue, my arms down and gripping my ax across my waist. They all wore shining helms, but as they stalked toward me like a pack of panthers, I could see through their eye slits that they were indeed olive skinned Western men, and that they were seasoned warriors as they did not have fear in their eyes.
But they should have.
My feet dug into the grainy terrain as I ran to their left side. A spearman thrust his spear out but I had covered more ground than he expected and he only caught a piece of my fur mantle. He prepared his shield for a blow. I squeezed my ax—most ax wielders swung down as one would chop wood, but I coiled my legs and swung upward, as if I was trying to knock something into the sky. My ax blade struck his shield at a strange angle he was not expecting and cleaved right into his shoulder. Metal tore. His shoulder armor saved his arm from being separated from his body, but I could still see blood spilling on the mail underneath the plate. I swept my ax above my head and brought it down on his helmet. Metal crunched. Skull bone shattered. Blood showered out from the eye slits of his helm as he wailed his last breath.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw one of the sword wielders already on me. He was just about to impale me when I jabbed the butt of my ax into his neck, not to kill him as to throw him off balance. As he chokingly reeled back he instinctively swung. Men reeling back can only swing high. Knowing this by instinct, I slid down, low enough that my knee touched the ground—I swung, feeling my hips twist into the low arching blow that cleaved his legs off in a gush of crimson. Two sword wielders had closed in on me. I lifted my double headed ax blades to my face to parry. The sword blow still struck me, but the ax and my helm made it only a ringing echo in my head rather than my brains splattered. The other swordsman's blade came at me and I twisted with it to take off its bite. My shoulder armor took it, but it grazed my chest and I felt the sting of bloodshed. Most men would have reeled back to regroup, but in a battle one can never act as most men or one will die as most men do, so I charged at the one nearest me. Neither of us had enough distance to coil a blow, so instead I kept pushing into him, our weapons pinned against one another, looking into each other’s eyes through our helm’s slits. I kept pushing, my legs pumping as I drove him right into his fellow swordsman. They reeled with each other, tumbling onto the ground.
Had I gone for the kill then, I would have taken a spear to the back, but out of the corner of my eye I had seen the last spearman aiming for me. In his eagerness to get me while I was defenseless he had thrust his spear with all his strength, leaning into it with all his weight and making his shield practically useless. It was his doom. I ducked back, parrying the spear with the haft of my ax, then aimed between his neck and shoulder. I brought my weapon down on him in a shining blur. The ax blade tore the air, just as it tore through mail, flesh and bone. His armor opened up like ripe fruit splitting open to reveal a gory red center. His scream was mercifully cut short as his life left him.
I heard the clatter of armor as the two swordsmen stood, and I stepped back and took a deep breath. The two swordsmen stood alert. Now the fear in their eyes told me they were well trained. They recognized an adversary who was not overwhelmed by five opponents, much less two. Still, despite the fear they stood their ground.
“Whether you chose this life, or were forced to it, you are brave men!” I circled them, taking their measure. “Someday I will bring doom onto the wretched Empire that we entertain like this. Take comfort in that… before you die!”
I dashed to them. The one nearest thrust his blade out hoping to catch me as I entered, but I stepped aside, his blade grazing my arm enough to cut, but not enough to slow me. There was a streak of red in the blur of my ax as I cleaved his arm off at the elbow. I had no time to give him the mercy of death but had to hear his screams as his companion thrust his blade at me. I parried and swung, but he caught the blow with his shield. I dashed back from two quick thrusts of his blade. I coiled my arms and swung. He took it with his shield, but I felt his shield arm jerk in a queer way. He slashed but I stepped back and brought my ax down on his shield again. The blow rang out as metal struck metal. He reeled back as he saw I raised my weapon . I gave chase and brought my ax down again and again on his shield. He slashed again but I parried it with my ax head. I knew his shield arm had given out, and it was time to end this.
“Raaaargh!” my enraged cry rang out as I summoned my strength and swung down. He blocked just enough with his shield that my ax only caught the top of his skull, but it was enough to send him screaming to the ground. The top of his head poured blood. I quickly stepped to him and brought my ax down on his neck. The silence of death fell on him.
I walked over to the swordsman who was writhing in pain as blood poured from his severed forearm. “Go, and rest forever,” I muttered, and I smashed my ax blade onto his throat, and his head rolled to the side away from his body.
His hair was wet with blood as I lifted the head into the air. The crowd roared.
Servants emerged from gates all along the inner wall and began dragging away the bodies of the fallen. Tossing the head away, I walked to the gate I emerged from. As I glanced back, I could see that there were horses braying on the other side of the opposing gate.
“Servant,” I called, gazing up at the viewing platform above the gate. A servant in a plain brown tunic appeared. “Here.” I tossed him my double headed ax. He caught it with two hands. “My single bladed ax, and a gladius.” After a moment, he brought both weapons and tossed them down to me. I took the gladius, which was really a long dagger in my massive hand, and fastened it at my waist. “And now, from the plains of Nakhav,” Pelleo’s voice rang out in the stadium, “the Laughing Chariots!” The opposing gate lifted and a cloud of dust kicked up. Two chariots charged out of the gate. They were pulled by two horses each and their wheels were scythed, making a high pitched sound that sounded like laughter as they spun. They had two Nakhavian warriors in light armor and horsehair helms riding each. They charged toward me. One of them had an archer on it, and I could see him now aiming at me, and letting his arrows fly. I flung myself onto the grou
nd, and rolled, the arrow narrowly missing. I saw the two chariots circle in opposite directions, and the archers taking aim once more. I spotted something the servants hadn’t picked up, a shield from one of the swordsmen I had killed. Sand billowed as I ran to it, slid along the ground and scooped it up. I took a knee and held the shield close, making myself as small a target for the archers as possible.
Their arrows flew. One struck my shield, and another struck a pointed ear of my dog helm. The thunder of hooves and the metallic spin of the wheels’ scythes kept barreling toward me. No shield or armor would protect me from those scythes. My body tensed as I waited until the last possible moment. I sprung up, tossing my shield aside, then hurling my battle ax. It spun through the air then crashed into a horse with a thunk. It caught him square in the chest, blood spurting from the creature, sending it crashing to the ground in a shower of blood, dust, and agonized brays.
I ran into the mayhem, slid my gladius out from the sheath at my lower back. As the driver of the chariot was bringing himself to his feet, I drove the blade down a seam in his armor, at the joint of the neck. He shuddered and died quickly. The archer was on me, armed with a hand ax, I parried a blow with my gladius, then clenched his weapon arm with my fist and drove my gladius into his unarmored thigh. He screamed and with a wet slicing sound I drove the gladius into his gut. I tossed him aside and set my eyes on the other chariot that was now circling toward me. I snatched the bow that had fallen not far from the toppled chariot, slipped an arrow out from the dead archer, and notched it. I used the fallen chariot as cover, aimed and let loose. I heard a scream as the driver was struck in the shoulder. It was not enough to kill but the chariot swerved, throwing their path off enough that the other charioteer hurled his javelin at me with poor aim as they circled by me. They had to slow just enough to not crash into the toppled chariot and I saw my chance. I sprinted for them, leapt onto the chariot. The chariot went on charging ahead as I snatched one of its rails. Before the warrior on the chariot could draw his blade, I stabbed at him with my gladius. He was too quick and he stepped back enough that my blow only glanced off his breastplate. As I made to strike again, he drew his own short sword and slashed at me. He sliced my sword arm so that I flinched, and he thrust his blade at me for a mortal stab. I leaned aside enough that it carried past me, and I pinned his sword arm against my torso. He sought to use this against me, shoving me until I was up against the inside wall of the chariot. He kept driving into me, pushing me with all his might. I glanced back and saw that if I fell over I would drop right into the chariot’s spinning scythes. The ground was rushing underneath us. Against a weaker man, it would have been a fine move for him, but holding onto his arm at my side, I picked him up by his crotch and hurled him over the side of the chariot. Blood sprayed up from the scythes. My eyes stung as droplets of blood pooled on my brows.
Wolf Blade: A Sword and Sorcery Fantasy Harem Page 4